I hold it true, whtate'er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; This is better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all।
There is a lady sweet and kind, Was never face so pleased my mind; I did but see her passing by, and yet love her till I die।
When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do belive her, though I knw she lies.
There is a lady sweet and kind, Was never face so pleased my mind; I did but see her passing by, and yet love her till I die।
When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do belive her, though I knw she lies.
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